if heaven had a window…

Shit, piss, spit, and vomit. These are the things that rock my kid’s world right now. I think this is the closest thing to having a boy that I’ll ever know. I have opened her Calvin and Hobbes books to find pages and pages edited to add illustrations of projectile vomit spewing forth from open mouths. Her ever present cute and sweet stuffed kitty, Georgette, has the bladder the size of a pea and sprays everywhere, unselfconsciously and without couth. Last year, at my family’s annual vacation at the lake thing, she took an unofficial survey of everyone’s “throw-up” sounds. Wouldn’t surprise me if she still remembers everyone’s. But I’m pretty sure she’ll re-query, just to make sure. Know your vomit sounds, everybody.

We spent a lot of time together on buses on a recent trip. Mercifully, no fellow passengers were questioned about their body functions.

Ipods come in handy, I have found, on such trips. With a pair of earphones clapped around her little head, she can listen to Maroon 5’s This Love againagainagain to her heart’s content, and I can listen to my own stuff without her making fun of my taste in music.

We boarded the bus to Boston and she got pensive. She looked at me. I braced. I know that look. I sucked in my breath and looked back at her, waiting.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember when we were talking about heaven last night?”

“Mmmmhmm…”

“Well, what color is it?”

“Any color you want. Heaven is anything you want it to be.”

“Oh. What color is yours?”

“Purple.”

“Oh! I want blue! Wait, no! I want a RAINBOW heaven!!!!”

O.k. So now she is obsessed with heaven, thanks to Tom Tom Club’s Genius of Love, her new favorite song, and a coupla days hanging out in old cemetaries, pondering the big questions. And I think that’s pretty cool, though somewhat unnerving when she asks me why she can’t go to heaven RIGHT NOW.

Yesterday was my late sister’s birthday. Not that she knew that. She’s dancing, with a rubber snake coiled around her head, appropriately, to Lady GaGa.